


Opposites Attract

by RussianSpy0137 (ConsultingCommunist)



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Alternate Universe - Human, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-11-03
Updated: 2012-11-03
Packaged: 2017-11-17 16:02:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,839
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/553349
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ConsultingCommunist/pseuds/RussianSpy0137
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Alfred (a photographer for a newspaper), and his boyfriend of many years, Ivan, are a strange couple. They live in modern-day New York City together, and Ivan is an immigrant from Russia who found salvation from a dark past in the arms of the bright American.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Opposites Attract

**Author's Note:**

> Warning for mild abuse references, but nothing exceptionally graphic.

**Ivan**

To say that Ivan merely loved Alfred would be an understatement of incredible proportions. Alfred was the only person Ivan had ever been this close to. Sure he had his various boyfriends and girlfriends over the years, but things always fell apart for one reason or another. It was usually because he was too dependent or too sensitive about things. His scars were a big one. All his life, he grew up believing his scars were ugly and that they would scare people away from being intimate with him. A few people over the years had refuted it and told him that no, they weren’t ugly or scary. But not once, until Alfred, had anyone told him they were _beautiful_. Alfred actually saw the scars, especially the jagged, thicker ones on his neck, and said they were beautiful. That they proved he was a survivor and that he could withstand anything life threw at him. Ivan had spent years in therapy, coming to terms with what his mother had done to him and learning to accept himself. But he never thought he would ever be good enough to deserve someone like Alfred, with his golden hair and sky-blue eyes, and his words like _beautiful_ and _love_ and _perfect_.

**Alfred**

Most people saw Alfred as oblivious or naïve; they saw him as having too many big dreams and too big of a heart for his own good. It was this overly-optimistic nature that turned others off to him. In a world of cynics, it was hard to find someone who could handle so much hope and excitement in one person. And then he met Ivan. Ivan had every right to hate the world, to be scared and angry and sad about his life and what had happened to him. But instead, his deep blue eyes shone with hope and promise, and an eagerness to learn and experience the world. Alfred had never seen such a quality in someone who had lived such a sad life. Ivan encouraged Alfred’s imagination and basked in the warm glow of his giant heart. He supported every spontaneous venture Alfred could think up, no matter how random or crazy or improbable. But most of all, he believed in him. He trusted him. No one ever trusted him; they called him foolish and childish and irresponsible. They blamed him and laughed at him, because he was the “hero,” the one with hopes too high and dreams too big. But Ivan believed in his big dreams. Ivan saw who he really was; a scared child who hid behind smiles when his heart felt too heavy, who let everyone laugh at him so they wouldn’t be sad. To Ivan, he really was the hero, because everyone knows that heroes have their flaws too. And that’s what made them heroes; not reckless bravery and absence of fear, but a healthy dosage of fear that they overcame to do what was right.

**Ivan**

Of course, there were some days when Ivan needed Alfred more than others. Days when everything was painted blue, when a smile seemed like a monumental task that would sap the life right out of him. And on these lonely days, when Ivan would stare out the window, or down at the table as he sat in the kitchen, Alfred would be right there with him. His usual fidgeting and energetic manner would calm significantly. He would sit, sometimes with his arms around Ivan, sometimes with Ivan’s arms around him, and relax, letting Ivan soak in the quiet togetherness of it all. Because sometimes words were too much and all Ivan wanted were feelings. And on those days, those days that would creep up on him and sew his mouth shut without warning, Alfred was there. He was there like no one else was. Even his sisters didn’t know how to help him on a blue day. But luckily Alfred knew enough of blue to know that all Ivan wanted was someone near him, to say through actions what was too much for him to process in words: _I love you. I’m here for you._ Having Alfred there was all he needed on those days, his blue eyes somehow looking brighter and more beautiful than the rest of the blue world surrounding him.

**Alfred**

Alfred understood Ivan on a level that no one else could ever hope to. He understood him in every sense and knew what he needed. And on days when Ivan was depressed, Alfred would sit with him and make observations, his writer’s mind translating these small things into poetry that he would write down later and sometimes show to Ivan. Observations about his scarred neck. _Like a book of tragic poems, written on his skin, waiting for someone to read and care._ His deep, dark blue eyes that almost shone purple in the right light. _Like radioactive jewels, shining from his sockets, waiting for someone to pluck them out._ His crooked, yet handsome nose. _Like broken ice, on the lakes of Siberia, waiting for someone to fall into the trap it set._ His shaggy, pale blonde hair. _Like bleached silk, hanging in his face, waiting for someone to brush it out of the way._ His smile that seemed fake on days like this. _Like an abandoned toy, broken in the corner, waiting for someone to pick it up and play._ And the sitting made Alfred sad, sad that he couldn’t have been there earlier to save Ivan from the ghosts that haunted him on these blue days.

**Ivan**

Blue days were rare though, and most of the time, Ivan was happy. He had the love of his life with him and that was all he needed. He’d marry him today if he asked. But Ivan wasn’t sure. Alfred was a free spirit, reveling in the independence he had in his job and advocating liberty in everything. So to tie him down forever in a marriage would be wrong to Ivan. A bird that flies to perch on your hand is wonderful, and you can admire its colours and feathers, as well as the air of freedom it carries proudly. But to betray that trust bestowed upon you by the bird and capture it to lock it up in something as permanent as marriage was practically a sin. He couldn’t do that to Alfred. It wouldn’t be right. But if the bird were to come inside your home and make its nest, settling itself in of its own accord, you would not be able to help but care for it as if it were yours and to enjoy being its lifelong companion. So if Alfred proposed, Ivan would say yes in a heartbeat, because he didn’t mind being his forever. But Ivan wouldn’t be the one to grab Alfred’s wings and clip them without an indication that that was what he wanted. So Ivan enjoyed their togetherness for now, and didn’t push anything.

**Alfred**

Alfred knew Ivan wanted to get married. He saw something flicker in his eyes and saw the tears of happiness that he tried to hide when same sex marriage was legalized in their state. Alfred had felt the same way, in all honesty. He almost ran out and bought a ring that very night. But he wanted to do it right. He may not be “traditional” in the sense of what gender he loved, but he did hold onto the traditional sentimentality that came with events like proposals. He wanted it to be special and perfect. So he would wait until the right moment. Alfred wanted to marry Ivan and adopt children and have the closest thing to the American Dream that he could get. But a child was another issue entirely. He didn’t even know the laws on adoption in New York, and he knew Ivan was hesitant about raising a child. But with his past, Alfred couldn’t really blame him. His mother had been a loving role model and then snapped as soon as his father died. So Alfred wasn’t surprised that Ivan was afraid of raising a child the wrong way. But Alfred also knew Ivan would be a wonderful father. He was the most caring and compassionate person Alfred had ever met, and he knew any child would be lucky to have him as his or her father. He just needed to make Ivan see that.

**Ivan**

Ivan was from Russia; he was from a land of cold and ice and snow. It looked white to tourists and photographers, that great expanse of snow-covered land. But anyone born of Mother Russia knew better. They knew her snow was red with the blood of her own people, that it tainted the soft landscape and made it look more like a horror story than a peaceful Christmas greeting card. And sometimes Ivan longed again for that crimson snow, longed to feel it crunching underfoot like the bones of those who had died to protect the Motherland. In a way it was only right that his memories of Russia were filled with pain and abuse. The country itself was covered in scars, scars from wars and corrupt regimes and overstretched resources. And Ivan was just a reflection of that, the scars on his neck and body coming from the Motherland just as much as they came from Alina. By running from Russia, he was running from both of his abusive mothers. But still, even with the safety it offered, sometimes America wasn’t enough for him and he needed to remember the way the Cathedral looked with fresh drifts of snow when he visited Moscow. And when winter came to New York, it was far too short and not nearly cold enough to cure him of his craving for frostbitten temperatures. But with Alfred it was almost enough. And he could handle living with a little bit of want if that meant staying by his side.

**Alfred**

Alfred lived in America his whole life, and as a natural-born citizen, he knew that America was many things. But mainly, it was too much, not enough, and just right all at the same time. Like walking down the city streets alone, hearing the noises of traffic and bustling crowds, feeling so surrounded by people and yet still so very alone because the one you loved wasn’t at your side. And the mixture of that suffocation and overstimulation created a bittersweet perfection, the unique feeling that only America could offer in its vastly different landscapes. The feeling of standing in a corn field, alone in the silent melody of wind whispering through the tall stalks, yet surrounded by the warmth and love and presence of the silence, both sensations forming together to create a melancholy peace that washed over your form and made everything right in the world. America to Alfred was a patchwork of scenes like that, everything and nothing at once. And the mascot for that feeling was the lovely statue that stood in the harbor; the only woman Alfred had ever been in love with his entire life. Lady Liberty had seen countless people come to her country, come onto her shores and into her loving arms. Sometimes Alfred wished he could go back in time to be one of the immigrants coming to America, to be able to gaze at its shores with all the reverence of someone looking for a fresh start and a new home. But with Ivan he no longer needed to wish for that. He was Ivan’s Lady Liberty, welcoming him into a loving embrace and giving him a fresh start from the abuse of his past.

**Ivan**

Ivan didn’t dream much. It was a condition that had plagued him his entire life. But sometimes he did dream, and he dreamed of Alfred. There was a sad and peaceful feeling to it, really, to dreaming of Alfred. _He dreams that he is in a field of sunflowers, and he can feel the sun on his face, warm and gentle. But then the sun disappears, and the sky turns grey, and the flowers die. Ivan is left standing alone in a field of sunflower skeletons, the dried stalks crinkling and collapsing under the weight of their heavy heads. And he is afraid to move, afraid to make any more of the dead flowers fall to the ground. So he stays where he is, shivering in the cold of the sunless grey graveyard that was once a field full of life, and for a moment he wonders why he is there, and why he too should not wither away and die with the flowers around him. But then he feels a warm sensation behind him, and he feels Alfred’s arms wrap around his waist. He smiles then, turning to face the one he loves and embrace him. And then it doesn’t matter that the sun disappeared and the flowers died and the sky went gray. Because the sunflowers are there, in the gold of Alfred’s hair, and the sky, in the blue of his eyes, and the sun too, in the warmth he radiates. The world is right again, and Ivan can smile._

**Alfred**

Whenever Alfred dreamed, it was almost always of Ivan. And there was one dream, one specific dream that was so heart-wrenchingly sad and maddeningly hopeful, that kept coming back to play in the movie theatre of Alfred’s mind. _It is a million shooting stars, a million flashes of colour, and Ivan, Ivan of snow and scars. He walks to him and sees tears on his pale face. And when he reaches him, Ivan stops crying and looks inquisitively at Alfred’s blue eyes. He reaches out and takes Alfred’s hand, placing it on his snow-white chest, over his heart. The heart flutters, fast, beating like that of a frightened hummingbird, and Alfred wonders why. But then Ivan lets go of Alfred’s hand, and the lights dim and the stars disappear. It is pitch black, and all Alfred can hear –can feel- is Ivan’s fluttering heartbeat. And he stays. He does not run from the dark, like he usually does. He stays in the dark with Ivan, with his heartbeat. And it should be sad, the fact that Ivan was crying, and that he cannot see him now, that he only has his heartbeat. But still, the only word he can think is beautiful. Because Ivan deserves that word more than anything else ever will._

**Ivan**

Ivan never regarded himself as someone particularly easy to love. He thought his heavy heart and traumatized past would cause him to hang around his beloved’s neck like the proverbial albatross, a psychological burden and curse that would taint and spoil everything good he could get in love. He saw himself as a man alone, one not destined to be with another. And he had learned to accept that. He genuinely thought he would be alone in his life. But that was before he met Alfred. Alfred was sunflowers and smiles and a cloudless summer day, and he was all Ivan’s, every inch of him. See, what Ivan had forgotten was that before one would have the albatross around their neck, one would have had to shoot him first. And from the moment they met, Alfred never once had an arrow pointed to strike. Even with the target painted over his heart, Alfred never aimed, never gave a thought to hurting Ivan. Alfred was perfect, in every sense of the word, and Ivan was the luckiest man alive to have him. He still wasn’t sure what he had done to receive such a blessing, but he was learning. He was learning that maybe he did deserve someone like Alfred, with his golden hair and sky-blue eyes, and his words like _beautiful_ and _love_ and _perfect_.

**Alfred**

Alfred had known that he liked Ivan the instant they met. Something just clicked, as if the universe or God or some other higher power pushed them together and said they were soul mates. Because that was really what they were. They were yin and yang; night and day; fire and ice; perfectly opposite reflections of each other molding to fit together just right. They complimented each other in every aspect of their lives, and it was beautiful. They loved each other more than any two people had loved each other before, and that was all they needed. And as much as Alfred was afraid of losing him, he knew he had to take a step. He wanted to belong to Ivan forever, and for Ivan to belong to him. A million bad outcomes ran through his head as he looked at the ring he held in the small velvet box. But a million good outcomes ran through his head too. He knew he could do it, because that was how you built on love, how you added to it: not with reckless bravery and absence of fear, but a healthy dosage of fear that you overcame to do what was right. 


End file.
